(Again, not my list...)
I’m rounding off a hectic 4 gigs in 6
nights burst with another “Anniversary” show, and this time I’m channelling my
early 80’s inner pseudo-Goth kid, with a 40th Anniversary show (I presume so
anyway, it being billed as “8323”) from pseudo-Goth legends Death Cult! I say
“pseudo-Goth” (twice), as the bands initially lumped together under that early “Goth”
banner were a broader and more diverse church than those most folks think of as
“Goth” (the black leather fetish look, dyed black spiky hair and white panstick
faces, and overpowering doomy synth/ guitar paeans about bats and
post-apocalyptic landscapes), ranging from shimmering haunting post-punk to
herky-jerky art-school rock. And right in the epicentre of this were Southern
Death Cult, who seemed to take the Native American imagery of Adam and the Ants
a step further, incorporating both the tribal pounding drumbeats and circular
chants, yet imbuing them with darker and harder-edged, expansive dusty Navajo
Desert rock atmospherics. As the band dropped the “Southern” and then the
“Death”, I enjoyed their initial clutch of singles (particularly the tremendous
propulsive rhythm of “Spiritwalker”, great to dance to at U18 Brunel!!) and
plangent album “Dreamtime”, but by the time I got to see them as The Cult, on
the Simple Minds Milton Keynes Bowl bill in 1986 (gig. 51!), they’d moved on to
a more driving American FM rock radio sound, in an attempt to break the States,
which frankly wasn’t for me.
However, when they announced a slew of
dates for this Autumn as “Death Cult”, promising to revisit that early
material, I was suitably intrigued to shell out the somewhat steep ticket price
(£60! For the Institute! Yipe!) and head off up the M5, accompanied by old
Brunel friend and Punk/Goth/Techno Queen of Swindon, Milady Debbie. An
entertaining drive saw us park up on a side street just past the venue at 6.30,
and we popped into the “Big Bulls Head” pub next door to avoid queuing in the
cold, thence enjoying some splendid rock conversation with a couple of fine
local gents (hi Jon and Andy!) which took us to nearly 8.30! So we then popped
into this ornate yet impractical venue (bottlenecks aplenty at the back bars!),
finding it totally rammed and eventually squeezing into a spot halfway back,
house left under the low overhanging balcony. The support act, a solo artiste
called Lil Refrain, was rounding off a haunting yet anodyne set with some Asian-tinged
chanting and monotone synth mood music, and honestly I was glad I missed most
of her set!
Debbie met an old friend and ventured
forward, and I ran into my old friend and former TTP compatriot Roger, finding
a bit of space slightly further forward for the entrance of Death Cult at 9.15,
onstage to a typically dry-ice swathed and incense-smelling stage. No intros,
but straight into taut, undulating opener “83rd Dream”, building
into a yelped hook by Ian Astbury, dark sunglasses, man-bun and leather trench
coat firmly in place, leading the proceedings with his commanding, dark and
sonorous vocals. The resonant ringing guitar riffs of “Gods Zoo”, ably provided
by guitarist Billy Duffy and so redolent of his 80’s contemporaries McGeoch and
Sargeant, dovetailed in with the strong-armed military backbeat for an early
highlight; “Brothers Grimm” was a haunting 60’s spaghetti western soundtrack,
stretched, parched and eerie with strafing riffery interludes again courtesy of
Duffy; and a stripped-back “Flowers” again saw Astbury’s voice to the fore,
holding a lengthy choral note perfectly (the previously taciturn frontman
quipping, “some things do get better with age!”). Former Cult bassist Jamie
Stewart was introduced for tonight only, adding his talents to a combative and
angular “Horse Nation” and widescreen “Go West”, then the repetitive hook of a
hurtling “Dreamtime” ceded to my set highlight double; firstly a quite
brilliant “Spiritwalker”, the cascading intro drums and huge reckless launch
into whirlwind life as wonderful as I’d hoped, then a stately yet
roof-raisingly anthemic “Rain” which maybe – just maybe – even topped
“Spiritwalker” for me tonight, the band then taking their leave just after
10.15, after a slightly disappointingly short set, clocking in at barely an
hour, but one replete with stunning highlights. Quality over quantity, I guess…
And if Death Cult finished the set
strongly, they followed up with 2 absolutely tremendous encores in the dark
dynamic build of “Moya” and the anthemic ringing chimes of the inevitable yet
superb “She Sells Sanctuary”. Astbury, whose rich and resonant vocals had
sounded brilliant throughout, reintroduced the band as they took their bows,
stated they weren’t just doing this for the money but, “because we still
believe!”, and left us with a single word – “Ceasefire”. You know, the world
could do with some of that right now… A swift drive Northwards looping around
B’rum got us back to the ‘Don in short order at 12.30, contemplating the gig.
Not perfect and, as I said, a bit short for the price, but when Death Cult hit
the mark, they were quite, quite stunning. My inner Goth kid was treated
tonight, no mistake!
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